Draco Dormiens Semper Titillandus
by WordNerds2008
Summary: When Harry finally emerges from his grieving after the war, and feels ready to rejoin the Wizarding World, what he finds there is... Draco. More than a year later, he still has trouble sleeping. Luckily, Draco can help. SLASH, HPDM
1. Chapter 1

**Draco dormiens semper titillandus**

_Disclaimer: Don't own Harry or Draco or other characters or settings. Not making any money, just having fun. (Not as much fun as Harry and Draco have, but fun nonetheless.)_

_A/N: Hey! I couldn't stay away! Any of you around the New England area (or going there from other locations) going to Leaky Con this weekend in Boston? I'll be in the vicinity (actually, I'll be in the hotel!) but not attending the Con. I love to meet other fanfic readers and writers. PM me if you'll be there and want to try to meet up! Love, IJDTW_

_A/N 2: Big thanks to **Felena1971 **for beta reading!_

**Chapter One**

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Part one: November, 2000**

Harry Potter lay awake in his bed, fighting the urge to roll to his other side and plump his pillow, knowing the effort would be futile. He didn't want to disturb his lover any more than he already had.

Just sleep, Potter, he told himself. Just… turn off your brain. Alas, it wasn't that easy. And it hadn't been, for a really long time.

How many nights had he wished for the easy, comfortable sleep of his first term at Hogwarts? He had escaped the privation of the Dursleys, and the closeness of his cupboard under the stairs. For a few blissful months, Harry had gone to sleep every night with a full belly, and slept soundly in a comfortable bed.

Those were the days before the nightmares had started in earnest. Nightmares of his parents' death. Nightmares of Voldemort drinking unicorn blood, or leering at him from the back of Quirrell's head. It only got worse after that: Enormous, man-eating spiders. Ginny, nearly dead, and the basilisk's fang piercing his skin. Dementors, drawing rattling breaths and reaching for his face with scabby, slimy hands. Cedric dead in the graveyard. Voldemort rising from the cauldron. Sirius falling through the veil, as if in slow motion, and Harry helpless to reach out and stop him. Inferi grasping his limbs and pulling him toward the lake. Dumbledore falling almost gracefully from the Astronomy Tower. Nagini spilling from inside of Bathilda Bagshot. Fred. Colin. Remus. Tonks.

Harry stifled a rueful laugh. He didn't need an overactive imagination – his real life had provided him with no shortage of nightmare fodder.

All of that was behind him now. Voldemort was gone. The war was over. None of his friends had died in over two years. He could relax. If only… if only he could convince his subconscious mind to let it all go.

Outside, a cloud drifted clear of the almost-full moon, and a soft light fell across Harry's face and illuminated the white blond hair of his sleeping lover. Harry's breath caught as he gazed at the beautiful face on the pillow next to him. Draco Malfoy was always handsome, but with his features relaxed in slumber he looked like an angel. His moonlit hair spread on the pillow in a silvery halo.

Harry had been out late, again, and Draco had already been asleep when Harry got home. He liked working as an Auror, though he hated the unpredictable hours. It wasn't so bad when he was single, when there was no one waiting at home for him. Now that he and Draco were living together, Harry's frequent late nights were a source of frustration – in more ways than one.

**

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Part two: May, 1998**

Everyone, it seems, deals with grief differently. After the war, most everyone Harry knew was in mourning to some degree. Some of his friends, Ginny Weasley among them, faced their grief by becoming somehow more alive – as if in defiance of everything that had been lost. Others, including Harry, withdrew for a time, seeking solitude and quiet to heal. In the end, Harry and Ginny just couldn't make it work– their needs were diametrically opposed. So they broke up, and though they promised to stay friends, things were awkward between them for the rest of the summer. It was a relief when the Hogwarts Express took Ginny away on the first of September.

For almost a year, Harry didn't do much of anything except putter around Grimmauld Place. But as spring brought new life to the trees in the little square across the street, Harry found his spirits slowly improving. Little by little, he took steps to reenter the world. And what he found there… was Draco.

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Part three: May and June, 1999**

Harry went to visit Kingsley Shacklebolt to see about joining the Auror training program, and ran into Draco exiting a lift. Draco looked far healthier than he had in school. He'd put on a little weight, filling out his frame nicely. And his eyes no longer had that haunted look they'd developed by sixth year. Out of habit, Harry was wary. At Hogwarts, Draco had never missed an opportunity to put Harry down. The war, however, had changed things between them, and Harry wasn't sure what to expect. Certainly he hadn't expected Draco to… smile? A genuine smile. Not a sneer or a smirk. Harry's eyes widened. And before he could find a response to Draco's nod and "Hello, Potter," Draco was gone.

In the next week, they crossed paths in Diagon Alley twice. Harry managed to respond politely to Draco's greetings, though he was still unnerved by the lack of hostility coming from his former nemesis.

When Harry walked out of Gringott's late one afternoon in early June, just as Draco was walking up the steps to enter, and they literally bumped into each other, Draco laughed. Harry was entranced. Had he ever heard Draco laugh before when it wasn't because of some malicious joke, usually at Harry's expense? It was a warm, rich laugh, and Harry found himself joining in.

"Are you following me, Potter?" Draco had asked, but his tone was light.

For some unknown reason, Harry had blushed as he shook his head to deny it.

"We keep running into each other," Draco said. "Perhaps the universe is trying to tell us something."

"Like… what?" What possible reason could the universe have for planting Malfoy in his path four times in just over two weeks?

"Like… maybe it's time I bought you a drink, Potter. Come with me to the Leaky?"

Harry looked at him suspiciously. "Why do you want to buy me a drink, Malfoy? Planning to slip me a potion that will make me do embarrassing things?"

Draco laughed again. "Entertaining as that might be," he said, "I'm all out of evil plots at the moment. I just thought, since you sent my wand back to me last year, and you got me out of the Room of Hidden Things, and whether you knew it or not, you kept me out of Azkaban, that perhaps I should buy you a shot or twelve of Ogden's."

"How…" Harry's mind swam. "How did I keep you out of Azkaban?"

"I'll tell you over drinks at the Leaky," said Draco. "Come on."

Draco led Harry to a small table in the back of the pub. "I'll be right back," he said.

Harry looked all around him, evaluating the other patrons, and the defensive options open to him in case he had just walked into a trap.

Draco returned from the bar with a full bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey and two shot glasses. Harry raised his eyebrows.

"It's sealed still – see?" said Draco. "I haven't put anything in it."

Harry cast Scarpin's Revelaspell just the same. The bottle came up clean. Draco rolled his eyes, and that, at least, was an expression Harry found comfortingly familiar. Draco poured them each a shot, and then laughed at Harry's hesitation.

"Fine," Draco said. "I'll drink first, to prove to you it's safe." He downed the shot in one gulp, and suffered no obvious ill effects.

Harry copied him, and then set his glass back on the table. "Okay," he said. "You're not trying to poison me. You're buying me a drink because I kept you out of Azkaban. How exactly did I do that?"

Draco leaned back comfortably in his chair and explained.

Almost immediately after Voldemort's death, Kingsley Shacklebolt, the new Minister of Magic, had called Harry in and interviewed him extensively about the battle of Hogwarts and the circumstances of Voldemort's defeat. Some parts of his report had been declassified, and made public. Apparently, Harry's information had been enough to spare Draco, though Draco's father hadn't been so lucky.

"Sorry about your father," Harry said, twirling his shot glass on its edge. He wasn't really. Lucius Malfoy definitely deserved to be in prison. Still, he did feel badly for Draco, who had always seemed to be close to his father.

"Don't be," said Draco, and Harry, who had been looking down at the table, now locked his gaze with Draco's.

"Why not?" Harry said. His voice came out sounding a bit breathless.

"Father made a serious error in judgment," said Draco, pouring another round. "He'd chosen the wrong side, turned himself into the Dark Lord's pet. He knew the risks. And he got what was coming to him."

"What about you?" Harry glanced at Draco's left forearm, covered by long sleeves, even though it was a warm day.

"My errors in judgment were serious as well, though not anywhere near on the same level as Father's. Thanks in large part to your report, the Wizengamot agreed with me there." Draco tossed back his second shot of firewhiskey, and bestowed a dazzling smile on Harry.

Harry found it difficult to breathe for a moment. He tore his gaze from Draco's face and drank his second shot as well. Old habits die hard, and he'd be damned if he would let Draco outdo him in anything. He intended to keep up, shot for shot, even if it meant he had to get a room at the Leaky for the night rather than attempting to get home in one piece.

When the burn in his throat faded, Harry glanced back at Draco, who was watching him intently. Until recently, Harry hadn't seen Draco since the war. Time had definitely been good to him.

"You're looking well, Malfoy," he said, grudgingly.

"More than I can say for you," Draco said. "I had imagined you would be living the high life after defeating your enemy, yet the paper has you down as a bit of a recluse since the war. It's… it's good you're getting out again lately."

Harry's hand shook, so he released his glass. "I may have defeated Voldemort," he said, "but the costs were very high. I'm starting to come to terms with them; it's just… it's been a long road."

Draco laid his hand on top of Harry's. "The costs were very high," he agreed. "But the benefits have been great as well. Haven't you noticed how different it feels?"

Alarmed, Harry pulled his hand out of Draco's grasp.

"I meant," said Draco, smirking at Harry's reaction, "now that you've been out in public again, can't you sense a different kind of energy in Diagon Alley? It's more like it was when we were first years. There's no Cloud of Doom hanging over everything. People are happier."

Harry breathed, and was surprised to find he'd been holding his breath. "Yes," he agreed finally. "People do seem happier." He looked around the pub, and saw smiling faces, heard laughter. When he turned back, Draco had leaned back in his chair again, and looked quite at ease. "You, in particular, seem happier."

"What's not to be happy about?" he said. "Malfoy Manor is a much more pleasant place to be now that we don't have His Snakeliness setting up camp there. Mother has redecorated the parts of the house that the Dark Lord liked to use for making examples of people, so that we have fewer reminders of those days. And with Father away, I am no longer trying to live up to his impossibly high standards. I've taken over managing the family investments, which is why you've seen me around at the Ministry and at Gringott's. We had to pay a lot to the Ministry for reparations for Father's crimes, funding for war widows and orphans and the like, but I am rebuilding, and this time with investments that are entirely legal." He smiled, as if he'd made a good joke.

Harry didn't want to think about the kinds of investments Lucius Malfoy might have made in the past.

"Good job," he said. "Shall we toast your success?" He raised his empty glass.

Draco poured two more drinks.

"To legal investments, not having to live up to unreasonable expectations, and fewer reminders of Voldemort," said Harry, refreshed drink raised to shoulder height.

Draco laughed. "That sounds like three toasts," he said.

"Good thing you got the whole bottle," said Harry. He drank. It didn't burn as much this time.

They ate dinner together, continuing to talk and drink through the evening. Between them, they finished off the bottle of Ogden's, and both got completely pissed. Draco suggested some fresh air, so they went for a stroll in Diagon Alley together, which turned out to be more of a drunken stumble. They raised more than a few eyebrows.

"They're all looking at us," slurred Harry.

"'Course they are," said Draco, thickly. "Two good-looking blokes like us."

Harry stopped moving.

"What?" said Draco, turning back and taking Harry's arm. "You too drunk to walk now?"

Harry shook his head. "You think I'm good-looking?"

Draco cuffed him in the back of the head. "For fuck's sake, Potter. Who doesn't think you're good-looking?"

"Oh," Harry said, rubbing his head. "Ouch."

"Pansy," said Draco. "What now? You need me to kiss it and make it all better?"

Harry giggled at the thought of Draco kissing him anywhere, for any reason. Then he stopped giggling as a warmth spread through him. "You wouldn't," he said, unsure if he wanted to be right or not.

Draco staggered a bit, as if Harry's words had knocked him off balance. He glanced around Diagon Alley. "Over here," he said, and pulled Harry roughly into an alleyway between two shops.

"What the fuck are you doing, Malfoy?"

"You don't think I'll back down from a dare, do you?" he said. He spun Harry so that he had to brace himself against the brick wall to avoid falling face first into it, put his hands on Harry's waist, and pressed his lips into the back of Harry's head.

Harry gasped at the contact, and was alarmed to find blood rushing to his groin.

"Anyplace else hurting, Potter?" Malfoy teased.

"Er…" Harry didn't know what to say. He just knew he didn't want to turn around and let Malfoy see that he'd gotten a hard-on from having the back of his head kissed.

Draco chuckled. "Ah," he said. "You are speechless with gratitude for my remarkable Healing skills."

Harry hesitated, then nodded. Sure. That's it. Gratitude. So… why the hard-on, exactly? And before he had another moment to consider his awkward situation, he felt Draco's warm breath, his mouth – his fucking teeth! – on his ear. He jumped and yelped.

"Let's see if it works again," said Draco, and he pressed his lips to Harry's ear to soothe the bite.

"Fuck," Harry groaned. He was doomed. He'd never be able to turn around. He tried to think of the least sexy things he could imagine: Arabella Figg. Professor Sprout. Millicent Bullstrode. But then Draco's teeth were on his neck, followed again by a soothing kiss. "What… what are you doing, Malfoy?" His voice shook.

Draco's hands wrapped around him, and his voice was husky in Harry's ear. "Do you want me to stop?"

"Er…" The last bits of Harry's sanity, what was left after the Ogden's and after the blood had abandoned his brain for a high rise apartment further south, screamed Yes, Stop! His mouth, however, did not cooperate. And his body seemed to have an agenda all its own. His cock was stiff and aching in his trousers, his nipples were hard, and when Draco's tongue licked along the curve of his ear he shuddered, and arched his back. Interestingly, that meant Harry's arse was now pressing against the front of Malfoy's trousers, and it was immediately apparent that Malfoy was in a similar state of arousal.

"I'll take that as a No," said Draco. He spun Harry again so that they were face to face in the narrow alleyway, and Harry's back was pressed up against the bricks, and Draco placed his hands on the wall behind Harry's head. He bent his head, his lips ghosting over Harry's.

Harry felt faint, and gasped for air.

Draco nipped at Harry's lower lip, and then smoothed over the bite with his tongue. "Gods, Potter," he said, his voice coming out almost as a growl. "Tell me."

"What?" he whispered. "Tell you what?"

"Tell me you want this, Potter," Draco said, so close to Harry that Harry felt the head radiating off of him. "I'm working so fucking hard right now to restrain myself. Tell me I don't need to."

Harry's internal war still raged. His mouth refused to choose sides in the battle – he was mute. Instead, Harry answered in the only way he could.

He put his hands on Draco's chest and pushed – hard. He heard Draco's cry of frustration as if from a distance, muffled by the roar of blood pulsing through his own body. He kept pushing, shoving, until Draco banged hard against the opposite wall of the alleyway. Harry crashed his mouth into Draco's, pressing his body against Draco's, his hands in Draco's hair, their erections crushing against each other.

That was all the encouragement Draco needed. He pulled Harry even closer, reached a hand down to Harry's trousers and started stroking him roughly through the fabric. When Harry felt his zip slide down, he pulled away. "Not here," he gasped. He grabbed Draco and spun.

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_A/N: This should only wind up as two or three chapters. It was inspired by a little off-hand remark made by Pieter in Seasons of Change. It'll be mostly PWP, though it's turning out slightly more angsty than I'd expected. Let me know what you think!_


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: Don't own Harry or Draco or other characters or settings. Not making any money, just having fun. (Not as much fun as Harry and Draco have, but fun nonetheless.)_

_A/N: Thanks for all the reviews! Some even came with kisses, to encourage me to write more… XD They make me very happy. Thanks again to **Felena1971 **for beta reading! And thanks again also to **Albe-Chan** for getting me out of yet another slump._

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Chapter Two**

**Part one: June, 1999**

Harry released Draco for a moment to pull his wand from his pocket and unlock the door to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. In the few seconds it took to Apparate them both from Diagon Alley to his home and to get them indoors, Harry's brain re-engaged somewhat, and a voice inside his head started screaming. _What are you doing? You brought Malfoy to your home, so he can keep putting his mouth and his hands all over you?_ But if his conscience was trying to talk him out of continuing, it had picked the wrong strategy. Just the thought of Draco's mouth and hands on his body was enough to block out all further argument. He turned back to the blond, his skin on fire for Draco's touch, and pulled him into another rough, hot, needful kiss.

Draco's hands were right back where they'd been in the alleyway, as though there had been no interruption – rubbing, groping… unzipping….

It was all happening very fast, and yet somehow not fast enough. Harry responded by reaching for Draco's zip as well, and somehow they wound up on the couch in the sitting room, Harry on top of Draco, trousers around their ankles and pants shoved down hips, grinding and stroking and gasping and groaning, bucking into each other's hands until, nearly simultaneously, they cried out their release.

"Fuck, Potter," Draco panted, once he'd gotten his breath back. "Why the hell did we wait so long to do that?" He reached for the back of Harry's head and pulled him in for a slow, deep kiss.

But Harry pulled away almost immediately, his face burning with shame. He stood to yank his clothing back into place and moved to an armchair. "Oh, God," he moaned, his head in his hands. "What have I done?"

Draco sat up enough to pull his clothes back on as well. "Give me a few minutes," he said, grinning, "and I can show you again."

"How can you make jokes about it?" How could Malfoy be so flip about something so obviously wrong? "We just… we just… God, I'm never drinking again!"

"You weren't that drunk," said Draco. "You managed to Apparate us here without splinching either of us."

Harry looked up, alarmed. Malfoy was right. He wasn't entirely sober, but he was not so drunk as to be out of control. Hell with that no-more-drinking idea. What he needed was another bottle of firewhiskey so that he could drink enough to forget the entire night.

Draco smirked. "Perfect destination, perfect determination, and perfect… Hell, I always forget the last one. Desperation, or something."

"Deliberation," Harry muttered, dropping his head into his hands again.

"Right," said Draco.

He walked around to the back of Harry's chair, which made Harry very nervous – he'd learned long ago never to turn his back on a Malfoy lest he get stabbed in it. The warmth and weight of Draco's hands on his shoulders gave Harry a shiver, which he tried to ignore.

"You were perfectly deliberate in getting me here," Draco continued, idly drawing circles on Harry's shoulder blades with his thumbs. "Rather domineering, too, should you want to add to our growing collection of D-words. You never exactly invited me back to your place, Potter. You might as well have clubbed me over the head and dragged me here by my hair. Very Neanderthal of you."

Harry groaned. Just what he needed. Draco Malfoy as his prehistoric property, his… cave-wife.

"What, exactly, is the problem?" said Draco, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"What is the problem?" Harry twisted in his chair to goggle at him in amazement. "You're Draco fucking Malfoy! We hate – we always hated each other! You're a bloke, for Merlin's sake!"

Draco laughed. "Only three problems? That's all you can think of?"

"Aren't three enough?"

"They would be," said Draco, "if they were valid problems."

Harry felt a renewed surge of lust, despite his confusion. He half hoped Draco was right, and that there weren't any problems at all with them kissing and rubbing and… _Oh, God…. _ "Of course they're valid," he said, annoyed to hear his voice shaking.

Draco came back around to the front of Harry's armchair and began pacing the room with his hands clasped behind his back, just like the lawyers on the television shows Dudley used to watch, when they argued a case.

"The first problem you mentioned is that I am Draco Fucking Malfoy," said Draco. "I am indeed Draco, but I assure you that is all to the good. I am also quite flattered that you believe Fucking is my middle name. I shall try to live up to it."

He smirked again, and Harry groaned. "Just kill me now," he said.

"I presume my family name is the greater issue," Draco continued. "However, as we discussed over drinks, I am rehabilitating the Malfoy name. Father is in prison. We made reparations. I am making responsible – and, more importantly, legal – investments." Again, he smiled as though about to laugh.

"What's so funny about your investments, Malfoy?"

Draco stopped pacing, and appeared to weigh his options. Finally, he shrugged. "Might as well confess, I suppose," he said. "I've invested heavily in Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. Talk about a growth stock!"

Harry's mouth dropped open. Draco Malfoy was supporting a Weasley enterprise? "Do they know it's you that's bought the stock?" He couldn't imagine his friends being at all happy that a Malfoy had any ownership of their company.

"Er, no," admitted Draco. "I've gone through a broker. I didn't think they'd sell stock to me personally. But the way they're expanding, I'll have rebuilt our capital by the end of next year."

"I must be dreaming," said Harry, shaking his head. "None of this could possibly be real." His eyes drifted toward the couch, and he flushed bright red.

Draco's eyes followed Harry's, and a smile spread across his face. "That kind of thing happen often in your dreams, Potter?"

Harry shook his head. "Stop talking about it, Malfoy. It's so… wrong."

"Right," said Draco. "We were discussing your problems, not your dreams or my money." He returned to his pacing, now ticking off two fingers on his left hand. "The second problem you listed was that we always hated each other." He looked at Harry for confirmation.

Harry nodded, miserably.

"Untrue," Draco announced. "I have not always hated you. In fact, if you remember, I once offered you my hand in friendship. You rejected me then. You chose Granger and Weasley over me." He stopped, and breathed deeply for a few moments. "I don't like being rejected, Potter. I… may not have handled it well."

Now Harry stood as well, hands clenched into fists. His face still burned, but in outrage rather than embarrassment. "You expect me to believe that all of that between us was you _not handling rejection well?_ It's my fault, somehow, that you insulted my friends at every opportunity, ridiculed me about Dementors all through third year, and kicked me in the face on the train sixth year? If you didn't hate me, Malfoy, you did a really damned good job pretending you did."

Draco paled, but to his credit, he didn't flinch. "I didn't hate you," he said. "Not at first. I'll admit I was angry with you, and hearing the things my father said about you all the time didn't help. Regardless, things have changed in the past couple of years, Potter. You know they have. I don't hate you now, and I don't think you hate me either."

Harry sank back into his chair. "I… I don't hate you now." He had actually enjoyed Draco's company at the Leaky Cauldron, once he'd decided he was not being poisoned. And that was before the kissing, so it wasn't just his hormones talking.

Draco kneeled in front of Harry. "What made you pull me out of the Fiendfyre, Potter?" His voice was soft, tentative.

Their eyes met, emerald green and silver gray.

"I- I don't exactly know," said Harry. "I just had to do it. No one deserves to die like that."

"You thought I was worth saving."

"Yes," Harry whispered.

"Then maybe I'm worth giving another chance." Draco leaned forward, and pulled Harry's face down to his.

"You're asking me to forget about an awful lot," murmured Harry, but he didn't pull away.

"I'll help you forget it," said Draco, and he kissed Harry again.

Draco's lips were soft, but insistent, and before he had time to think about what he was doing, Harry had parted his lips enough to let Draco's tongue slip into his mouth. When it tangled with Harry's tongue, the shocking intimacy made Harry jerk away.

"I'm sorry," he said, "but I can't forget that you're a bloke."

"I don't want you to forget it," Draco murmured. "In fact, I am more than happy to remind you, should you show signs of amnesia." Draco's eyes flitted to the couch, to make his point, and Harry flushed once again.

"Doesn't it bother you at all?" Harry ran a hand through his dark hair. His head hurt. "Or have you always preferred boys and I just never knew it?"

Draco sat back on his heels, his eyes focusing on something Harry couldn't see, as he pondered the question. "It doesn't bother me," he said finally. "Father, naturally, wants me to marry a pureblood witch and have as many children as it takes to provide an heir to the family name. Of course, he's in Azkaban, and no longer has any control over me. These days, I can do what – or who – I want." He grinned at Harry as though he were a juicy slab of steak.

Harry crossed his arms and glared. "How lovely for you," he said. "You can take me off your 'To Do' list, Malfoy. I'm not interested. I like girls."

"Au contraire," said Draco. "You are indeed interested. You've made that amply clear this evening. You may like girls, but if I were you I wouldn't cross boys off the menu. You wanted it as much as I did, Potter – nobody Confunded you, and the firewhiskey didn't rob you of reason – it just lowered your inhibitions. Which, sadly, seem to be making a reappearance." He rocked forward again, and parted Harry's knees, kneeling between them. He began making circles with his thumbs again, this time on Harry's inner thighs.

Harry fully intended to stop him. Soon. Any minute now.

"Are you," he squeaked, then he stopped and cleared his throat. "Are you playing some kind of game, Malfoy?"

Draco arched a pale eyebrow. "Would you like to play a game, Potter?"

Harry wanted to stand, to move away from Draco. Anything so that he could think clearly. How was he supposed to make sense of anything when Draco's long slender fingers were teasing him like that?

On the other hand, Harry wanted to knock Draco backward onto the floor and unbutton his shirt and run his hands all over Draco's chest, and… No! That was madness.

Harry was sure of only one thing. He needed to know what the hell was going on in Draco's twisted mind.

He shook his head. "No games," he said. "Just answers."

Draco sighed, rocked back on his heels again, and stood. "Fine, take all the fun out of it," he grumbled. He drew his wand, cleaned up the couch, and sat down on it. "What burning questions are keeping you from letting this go where our bodies want to take it?"

A rush of heat spread through Harry's groin when Draco spoke so casually and openly about the urges Harry had been trying valiantly to ignore. It somehow made everything more real.

"Why me?" he finally asked. "Why are you interested in me at all?"

"I know it doesn't make sense," said Draco, so softly he might have been talking to himself. "You're not pureblood, or royalty, as would befit my heritage. And so many people want you it's almost common of me to want you, too…. Yet, here I am." He shrugged, then gestured widely, taking in himself, Harry, and the whole room. "Here _we _are."

Harry scowled. "That doesn't answer my question."

"Maybe I don't have an answer for you," Draco said. "What I do know is that neither of us has been able to ignore the other since we met. We have strong reactions to each other. Personally, I prefer to let that play out the way it did tonight, rather than in hexing each other on trains. Honestly, Potter, which was more enjoyable for you?"

Harry considered the question. It had been awfully entertaining when, at the end of his fifth year, he and his friends had hexed Crabbe, Goyle, and Malfoy into slugs, and stuffed them into the luggage compartments. Of course, he'd been paid back in spades on his very next trip on the Hogwarts Express, when Malfoy petrified him, kicked him in the face, and then covered him with his own invisibility cloak. He was both grateful and mortified to have been found by Tonks before the train returned to London. Draco and Harry had not shared a ride on the Express ever since, which was probably a good thing, given the way the violence had escalated.

This… thing… with Draco now, the groping in the alleyway and everything that had happened on the couch…. It was exciting, thrilling, powerful. He couldn't deny the fact that he had enjoyed it. Draco had cleaned up the evidence on the upholstery, but the room still reeked of sex. And if this sort of activity with Draco were allowed to escalate… Harry felt his pulse racing. He met Draco's eyes, which was a mistake, because it made his heart want to leap out of his chest.

Everything depended on his answer to Draco's question. It was too much pressure. How could he give any kind of answer when his brain was clouded by alcohol and… and lust? Because Godric help him, Harry had definitely responded to Draco's kisses in the alley, had shoved him against a wall and snogged him, had dragged the Slytherin to his home so that they could molest each other somewhere less public, and had grabbed Draco's long slender prick and stroked it hard while pistoning his own cock into Draco's hand until they both came all over each other.

"I… I don't think I need to answer that," he said, finally. "Just because what we did felt…"

"Yes," said Draco. "Say it, Potter."

Harry's face burned. "It was…" He ran his hands through his already-messy hair. "Fuck, Malfoy. It was both incredibly good and incredibly bad at the same time. I don't know what you want me to say. I'm too confused to know what to think about any of this. Maybe… maybe you should just leave." Even as the words left his mouth, Harry couldn't be sure he really meant them.

Draco rose, and stood before Harry. He held out his hands. Harry, not knowing why he was doing it, took them, and allowed Draco to draw him to his feet as well. Then Draco wrapped one arm around Harry's waist and wove the fingers of his other hand into Harry's hair, lowering his lips to Harry's, and pulling him into a plundering kiss that made Harry's head spin.

Harry squeaked in surprise and alarm, and then, despite his best intentions, found himself responding again to the heat and the hardness of Draco's body. Only when Harry had given himself over entirely, kissing Draco back fiercely, his arms wrapped tight around the blond, did Draco pull back.

"Maybe I should stay," Draco said.

"I don't like you," Harry panted.

"I don't care," said Draco. "I don't like you, either."

"Then this is madness," said Harry. "I… I can't…" He laid his head on Draco's shoulder. It was so unfair. "Gods, I want to, Malfoy – but I can't do this with someone I don't like."

"Then you'd better find a way to start liking me, Potter," Draco whispered into Harry's neck. "Because I don't think either of us can stop this."

Harry raised his head and gazed into Draco's eyes. "Yes," he said slowly, his breathing still labored. "I didn't actually mind your company tonight at the Leaky. Maybe… maybe we could have dinner sometime, try to get to know each other in a new way."

He gasped as Draco's hand slipped between them and stroked along the outline of his once again obvious erection.

Draco chuckled at Harry's reaction. "I'm rather enjoying getting to know you in this new way," he said.

Harry's response came out as a gurgling noise.

"Pardon?" said Draco, smirking.

Harry swallowed, breathed deeply through his nose, and drew on every last ounce of control. "Does that mean you accept?"

"A dinner date, with you?" Draco continued to draw his fingers along the ridge in Harry's trousers.

"Yes," Harry gasped.

"How about breakfast, instead?" said Draco. "Tomorrow."

Harry nodded frantically. "The sooner the better," he managed to say before speech failed him entirely.

"Perfect," said Draco. "And in the meantime…"

His hand reached for Harry's zip once again, and Harry moaned, not even dreaming of putting up a fight.

Within moments Harry had been divested of his clothing from the waist down, and Draco, with one hand wrapped around Harry's phallus and the other on Harry's hip, had steered him back to the couch. Where before Harry had been the aggressor, this time Draco took the lead. He pinned Harry to the couch with deep, bruising kisses, stroking his cock all the while. Harry writhed beneath him, crying out incoherently.

With his free hand, Draco lifted one of Harry's legs and slung it over his shoulder. He stroked back down Harry's leg to his arse, and then a brand new experience overtook Harry, causing him to suck in a breath. Stars exploded before his eyes as Draco, still stroking his cock with one hand, pushed a finger of his other hand into Harry's anus. At first the sensation was so alien that Harry didn't know what to think or feel, but very quickly he adjusted to the intrusion and gave himself over to the rapture.

Harry fairly howled with pleasure as Draco's digit moved in and out of his virgin hole, fucking him in time with the hand stroking his cock. His breathing grew more ragged, and his cries more guttural, as his hips jerked uncontrollably and his balls tightened – there was no holding back, he was careening toward the edge of the precipice.

Draco's mouth moved to Harry's ear and breathed hot and hard. "Do you like me now, Potter?" he growled.

Harry plunged over into the abyss, screaming, "Fuck, YES!" He convulsed and felt his hot seed spill between their bodies.

* * *

**November, 2000**

"_Do you like me now, Potter?"_

It had become an inside joke between them. Draco still whispered it in Harry's ear when he was feeling particularly randy. It never failed to get a rise out of Harry – so to speak.

Harry stood at the window, watching the clouds drift over the moon. He'd slipped out of bed so that his restlessness would not wake Draco.

Oh, he definitely liked Draco now. He was, in fact, quite smitten. He smiled as he looked down at Draco's sleeping face, and remembered the days when he and Draco had first started seeing each other. Draco had stayed that first night, and they'd had breakfast together, and they'd talked. A lot. They started with safe topics, like flying, and worked their way slowly into areas more filled with conversational landmines. It took a lot of work and a lot of compromise. Luckily, Harry became more convinced every day that Draco was worth the effort.

Meanwhile, their physical relationship had deepened as well, and in that area there was no awkwardness. Harry quickly got over his reservations about being with another male, and gloried in Draco's masculine grace and power.

Within the first week of dating Draco, Harry realized he had never questioned his sexuality, and had been dating girls because he assumed that was what he should do. Now that he knew he was gay, all the signs made much more sense. He'd always figured that – if he survived – he would have better luck with girls when he wasn't quite so focused on how to get rid of Voldemort. The truth was, he'd just never really been that interested. Cho was pretty – and pretty boring. Ginny, on the other hand, definitely wasn't boring. That much he could say without reservation. Their brief relationship had been tumultuous. Ginny was frequently irritated with him, not least when he kept finding excuses not to bed her at the end of his sixth year. At least now he understood why. When, a month after he'd begun seeing Draco, he confessed his new relationship to Ginny, she was actually relieved to find out the reasons behind the rejection.

Ron and Hermione were a bit slower to come around, but eventually, when they saw how happy Draco was making Harry, they grudgingly accepted him too.

Harry and Draco had been living together now for six months, and Harry thought his life was just about perfect. He had good friends, a home, a career he enjoyed, and an attentive lover who had also become one of his best friends.

The only real trouble was nights like these – nights when Harry couldn't sleep. Or, when he did sleep, he was woken by nightmares. He used to have nights like this all the time, and had assumed they would fade with time. Sadly, they hadn't. In the past, Harry wouldn't have thought twice about taking a Dreamless Sleep potion. At one point, he'd had a standing order for the stuff at Slug & Jiggers, the apothecary in Diagon Alley.

Now, however, Harry never felt he could risk it. Though the potion did allow him to sleep well at night, it left him feeling rather… blurry, somehow, for a good bit of the following day. As an Auror, he needed to be as sharp as possible, for his own sake as well as for his partner, Bo, and for Bo's wife and children.

Bo hated his real name, Beauregard Wyxenstyx, and was thrilled when Harry had given him his new and far simpler nickname. He was tired of having to spell out his name all the time for people, and having to endure hideous mispronunciations. At the Ministry's annual summer picnic this past August, in fact, Mafalda Hopkirk, of the Improper Use of Magic Department, stopped by to visit with Harry and Bo and couldn't quite get her tongue around "Wyxenstyx." It kept coming out sounding more like "Vixen Chicks," or once, even "Dixie Chicks," whatever those might be. Draco, who had accompanied Harry to the picnic, pointed out that a powerful aroma of firewhiskey surrounded the usually very proper Ms. Hopkirk, which probably had not helped her much. Every time Harry heard Bo's full name these days, he snorted with laughter, remembering the picnic.

Draco rolled over in bed, and flung an arm over Harry's pillow. He frowned, and creaked open one sleepy eye. "Whasso funny?" he asked.

Harry sat on the edge of the bed and brushed Draco's silky blond hair out of his face. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to make any noise. I was just thinking about Hopkirk at the picnic, slaughtering Bo's name."

A delicate vertical line appeared between Draco's pale eyebrows. "Shouldn't be thinking 'bout them," he murmured. "Think about me."

"I do, love," Harry assured him. "All the time."

"Come back to bed."

"I can't sleep," Harry said. "I didn't want to disturb you."

"I can help you sleep," said Draco, sounding significantly more awake now. "You always sleep better after sex. You should've woken me when you got home."

Harry laughed softly as he climbed into bed and wrapped his arms around Draco. "A very kind offer, but I don't want to use you for sex just so I can sleep."

"Then don't," said Draco. "Use me for sex because you want to get laid. Better sleep is just a side effect."

"I don't want to use you at all, you great pouf," said Harry. "I love you, and I want to be respectful of you as a person."

"I don't want your godddamned respect, Potter," Draco growled. "I want your gorgeous cock inside me. Wake me up when you get home."

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but realized he had no argument with Draco's logic. What he had instead was a growing hard-on.

"You know what they say," purred Draco, sliding his hands down the plane of Harry's abdomen. "Draco dormiens semper titillandus."

"No one says that," murmured Harry. "You've got it wrong, love. It's 'draco dormiens nunquam titillandus.'"

"I don't have it wrong," said Draco. "Your version is the school motto. My version is just plain good advice. But only for you."

Harry frowned, trying to work it out. The Hogwarts school motto meant "never tickle a sleeping dragon"… What did "semper" mean? Harry was no good at languages.

Draco sighed dramatically. "It's not nearly as much fun when I have to spell it out for you, you know."

Harry laughed, and kissed him. "Indulge me. It's been a long, difficult day."

"Always tickle a sleeping Draco."

"Tickle you?" Harry wiggled a finger in Draco's armpit, testing.

"Tickle, kiss, stroke, fellate…. Whatever it takes to wake me up. I love you, you dense troll. And I always want you. So just… wake me up, and let me take care of you just like you like it." Draco rolled Harry to his back, stroked one hand up Harry's thigh to his hardening cock, and leaned over to swipe his tongue over one dusky nipple.

Harry moaned softly. "Fuck, Draco, you do know just how I like it."

"Naturally," said Draco, his hand now moving slowly along Harry's shaft. "After all, Fucking IS my middle name."

* * *

_A/N: The End! Short & sweet. I don't know what Draco's actual middle name is, but I move to make it Fucking. Anyone want to second the motion? Do drop me a review and let me know how you liked the story. This one is less plot-driven than most of my stuff. Please be kind – constructive criticism is fine, but flames are not welcome._


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